


not going anywhere

by charcoalsuns



Series: sportsfest 2018 [9]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-20
Updated: 2019-01-20
Packaged: 2019-10-11 20:37:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17453876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charcoalsuns/pseuds/charcoalsuns
Summary: Kunimi isn't fond of heights. He is, however, fond of Kindaichi, and that might make up for part of it.





	not going anywhere

**Author's Note:**

> (unposted, BR 1) [for a prompt by ellipsometry](https://sportsfest.dreamwidth.org/7464.html?thread=360232#cmt360232): 
> 
> TIME: sunset  
> PLACE: the top of a broken ferris wheel 
> 
> \-- 
> 
> making my way through my sportsfest folder, finding trailed-off things i'd nearly forgotten i wrote, and whose tone i've possibly forgotten how to match, 
> 
> **content warning** : descriptions of Height and related discomfort

  
  


Kunimi isn't pleased with the situation. 

"I guess this isn't too bad," Kindaichi says. "I'm glad we're not stopped at the top of a roller coaster instead."

Kunimi doesn't think the two sentiments there need to fall in line with each other. Then, thinking about falling, he tries to think about something else.

"I mean, pretty good timing, right? The sun's going down, the sky's all nice and stuff, we can look around and see the whole park from up here..." 

Kunimi looks around, too. With every blink, his awareness jumps – a rusted screw where Kindaichi's seat attaches to the low wall – a thin, spidering crack in the three-sixty window above it – the single sliding lock an arm's length away he hadn't thought to double check when they'd boarded – their cabin swaying back and forth in the terrible, ominous stillness, all the harder to tune out the faint creaks and clanks around them, below them—

"...hear me? Kunimi, hey," prods Kindaichi's voice, and _everything moves_. 

" _Sit down_ ," Kunimi hisses. His fingers dig into brittle, contoured plastic. 

"I am, I am," Kindaichi says, already turning himself around on Kunimi's side of the cabin. Gravity reaches for them like a beckoning hand, claws snatching below the metal floor. When Kindaichi takes a seat next to him, it sighs, and its displeasure rocks their dangling, insubstantial room even further. 

Kunimi is aware of height. 

"Are you okay?" Kindaichi asks, _shifting_ again because he can't just _sit still_. "Your face is a little—"

"Can you," Kunimi tries closing his eyes. It doesn't help. "Stop moving." 

"Oh," says Kindaichi. "Oh, sure." Kunimi, eyes now fixed straight ahead on the empty seat across the cabin, feels movement at his side anyway, though it is gentler, less upheaving than before. Kindaichi's leaned forward to look at his face. "Did you eat something weird earlier? Or was it really sunny today, or, do you need to go to the... Oh," he says again. "Oh, man. You're. Oh no. Maybe I shouldn't have..." 

It is the most reflexive thing of all for Kunimi to rotate his head toward him and _glare_. "I wouldn't have come on the ride if I didn't want to," he says, the obvious rising like a fist and a dodge in one. "Neither of us could've known the whole thing would get stuck." 

"I guess so." Kindaichi glances through the plastic-glass once more, looking trapped. "I'm still sorry it's happening." 

If Kunimi doesn't roll his eyes, it's because he doesn't need to give himself any more vertigo. "Give me your hand," he says, palm up between them. 

Kindaichi starts, and nods. "Okay."

They're used to the spaces their fingers find to overlap, but their configuration is a little different every time. It's nice.

The cabin sways. Kunimi is aware of stories and stories of height.

Kindaichi's other hand is warm on the back of his wrist, up and down like a bow of apology as Kunimi doesn't try to loosen his grip. 

He braces his feet and leans his knee sideways, space by space, until it presses against Kindaichi's, until Kindaichi catches himself and presses back. "Stop thinking about it," Kunimi says, following with shift by shift of the rest of himself, until he can rest his clenched jaw on Kindaichi's shoulder, and lean his head against Kindaichi’s neck. 

Kindaichi clears his throat. His skin is probably turning warm, too, and Kunimi smiles without changing his expression. "Sorry," Kindaichi says, a quiet sound through Kunimi's hair. His habitual apologies are probably more often an acknowledgment of one shared snag or another, rather than any plea for forgiveness. Kunimi lets his breath out his nose in a _whoosh_ of amusement. 

Sometimes, he doesn't mind being acknowledged. 

"Don't laugh at me," Kindaichi says, taking his hand from Kunimi's. He rests it instead around Kunimi's middle, holding them closer together, as if by doing so he could secure them a lifeline. He might be laughing, himself; Kunimi can feel his shoulder shaking slightly beneath his cheek. "I'm glad you're maybe feeling better, though. Are you feeling better?" 

Kunimi gives a small sigh, glaring at the open crack between the low door and the shell of the cabin. "Distraction doesn't work if you remind the person they're being distracted." He slouches sideways. "Don't say sorry," he adds, to hear Kindaichi trip over his reply. 

As it happens, distraction also doesn't work if he's aware he is distracting himself. But as he redirects his attention onto Kindaichi's dozen simultaneous micro-reactions, he sorts them in his mind by their level of ridiculousness, by his level of exasperation, by his own ridiculous, exasperated fondness, and it's almost like forgetting about the broader situation. 

“I’ll buy you food later,” Kindaichi is telling him, stubborn as always, when it comes to it, about saying sorry without saying _sorry_. 

A corner of Kunimi’s mouth twitches upward. “You were going to do that anyway.” 

“Well…” Kindaichi seems to give this a thought. “Yeah, I guess I was. Yeah.” Then, a second later, “Hey, wait.” 

Kunimi catches a snort in his throat. He turns his head, pressing a smile into Kindaichi’s shoulder, pleased. 

The situation isn’t much changed. Kunimi keeps telling his eyes to look at anything other than the scattered evidence of how far off the ground they still are, how precarious he feels. He has his hand on Kindaichi’s thigh, fingers digging in above his knee every time the cursed wind decides to resume its game of mockery against them. 

But through it all, Kindaichi doesn’t budge from his side, steady in a way he normally isn’t, or normally doesn’t have the occasion to be. 

Kunimi takes in his fill, thinking about how, he supposes, it could be worse, and feeling nothing but a small, warm gratefulness that it isn’t.

  


**Author's Note:**

> many enduring feelings about any image of kindaichi and kunimi: two against the world (inasmuch as their immediate surroundings constitute _the world_ ) 
> 
> thank you for reading!


End file.
